Your Truth or Mine? Page 5

  ‘You look amazing!’

  The compliment turned me around. I air-kissed James’s mother and got caught up in superficial banter. The evening was a mosaic of fragmented memories. People I had known all my life waltzed in and out of focus: the aunty who used to send sweets every Baisakhi, the uncle who loved taking Addi and me boating, the cousins we’d tie rakhis to every year. Snatches of conversations, high-pitched laughter and convivial jokes wafted about the ballroom. Everyone was busy putting on a show. The doting mother-in-law here, the perfect husband there. Where did it all end?

  At dusk, we all moved to the terrace, wrapped up in silk scarves and pashminas. Once Addi and James were seated in the mandap, the fire was ceremoniously lit. Mum, Roy, the priest and I poured spoonful after spoonful of ghee into the cauldron, the dancing yellow sparks licking its curling edges, until the flames swelled, soaked in incandescent orange. Mum and I stepped back.

  Roy placed Gangajal and flowers in Addi’s palm and put her hand in James’s before the priest tied them together with a bright red silk dupatta. No one saw what happened to me in that moment. Roy had just given Addi away.

  Daddy should have done this.

  Addi and James stood up for the phere and Addi began translating the verses for James.

  ‘With this first circle, we vow to look after each other materially for as long as we shall live . . .’

  Addi looked breathtaking in her deep red lehenga. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears but her voice never wavered. My heart drummed. Deep breaths, Mia.

  ‘. . . with the second circle, we vow to cherish and honour each other’s physical, medical and emotional needs . . .’

  Friends and relatives gathered around the mandap and showered rose petals on Addi and James as they walked around the fire. Everything stopped.

  ‘. . . the third circle binds us together spiritually until all eternity . . .’

  All eternity. It wasn’t as simple as ‘till death do us part’ in Hindu marriages. Years ago, young widows would jump into their husbands’ funeral pyres, so that even death couldn’t separate them. Sati. The devoted wife, whose life belonged to her husband, even in death. Despite all our efforts, Mum had remained single for the past two decades. Was it undying love or simply cultural conditioning? Was this what marriage meant?

  Something was digging into my palms. I looked down. My fingernails. No. No. Not now. Not again. Please.

  ‘. . . we vow to live in happiness and harmony, share both joy and sorrow, and be content in a life of mutual love, trust and understanding . . .’

  His part done, Roy came and stood next to me, his hand resting lightly on the back of my neck. I tried to slow my breathing down. I closed my eyes. Settled. I leaned into Roy.

  ‘. . . with the fifth circle we seek the blessing of the gods for healthy children and vow to raise them to the best of our abilities . . .’

  Did it matter that Roy and I never read our vows out loud? We never even had vows. Just many, many I love yous, the promise to always be faithful and a laminated piece of paper.

  ‘. . . we promise each other unwavering support and a lifetime of togetherness . . .’

  The priest’s chanting rose to a crescendo, his mantras drowning out everything else. Roy slipped away to answer his phone. I focused on the flames. Indigo. Orange. Indigo. Orange.

  ‘. . . with this final seventh circle, we vow eternal love, loyalty and fidelity to each other . . .’

  ROY

  Thursday, 10th September

  I had never seen Mia as heartbroken as she looked that evening.

  After the ceremony, all of Addi and James’s closest friends and family assembled in the foyer to see them off. I stood between Mia and her mother as Addi threw fistful after fistful of rice over her shoulders, the white grains fluttering over her red dupatta to rest on the ground. Addi stopped walking when she got to us, pulling her mother and then me into a quick hug, before coming to stand in front of Mia.

  ‘It’s just—’

  ‘I know,’ Mia said, cutting Addi off and pulling her into a tight hug.

  They stood like that for a long time, both sisters clutching on to each other, the significance of the moment so large that they could neither ignore nor acknowledge it.

  After a few minutes, James stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Addi, murmuring something to her and Mia as he gently pried them apart.

  As Addi climbed into the car, I turned to look at the trail of white she had left behind her, marking out a clear path: away from her old family and towards her new one.

  MIA

  Thursday, 10th September

  ‘Hey,’ Roy said, steering me towards the lift. The guests had all gone up to their rooms and hotel staff were clearing the lobby, ready to wind down for the night. ‘You know Bristol’s only a few hours away, right? She’s moving closer to us, sweetie, not farther.’

  Addi had been in America for the past two years. After the honeymoon, she and James were heading to Chicago to pack up. They were planning to move into their flat in Bristol before the new year. But my sense of loss had little to do with physical proximity. This was Addi moving on; it would be the start of her own family, one that would come before anything or anyone else, even me.

  ‘I know,’ I sighed.

  ‘I need to nip around to Emily’s hotel,’ Roy said. ‘She needs money for a taxi to Delhi.’

  ‘Do you have to?’ I said, trying to keep the neediness out of my voice. ‘We could get the hotel’s car service to send another car.’

  ‘That would be complicat—’

  A man yelling interrupted us.

  ‘. . . No, NO. It’s my brother’s house. If you think I’ll let you get away with it . . .’

  Roy and I hurried towards the voices. Uncle Bill had found my mother.

  I intervened, looking from my mother to Uncle Bill. I had never seen him this angry, nor her this anxious.

  ‘What’s going on? Is everything okay?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on, Mia. I’ve already lost—’

  ‘William, please.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see,’ he said, looking from me to Mummy. ‘Must protect poor little Mia. She’s not a baby anymore, Rekha,’ he sneered. ‘How are you going to hide this from her when the solicitors come knocking? You have no right to do this. I will not let you,’ he spat and stormed off.

  A handful of people had gathered in the corridor. There were no guests there, only hotel staff and decorators.

  I moved closer to her, filling the empty space that Uncle Bill had left. Mummy looked frail, defeated. Roy put an arm around her to steady her.

  ‘Mummy, what’s the matter?’ I asked, keeping my voice low.

  ‘Mia, beta, it’s nothing. You should go to your room. Roy must be tired.’

  ‘No, we’re fine. What solicitors?’

  ‘We’ll discuss this later.’ She started to walk off. ‘I think I’ll go to bed too.’

  ‘No, Mummy. What’s going on?’ I pulled her into one of the supply closets, closing the door behind the three of us.

  That’s when she told me, in between sobs, that she was planning to sell the house in Bristol. Dad’s house. The only thing we had left of him.

  ‘Were you even going to tell me?’

  ‘Sweetheart, of course I was going to tell you. We thought it would be best—’

  ‘We?’ I looked at Roy. He squirmed. So he was in on this.

  ‘You’ve both been keeping this from me?’

  ‘Mia, beta, calm down. I was going to tell you. I just thought it would be best to wait till the wedding was over.’

  ‘Well, it’s over now.’

  ‘Mia, just listen to her. Mummy’s obviously very upset—’ Roy started. I held up a hand and turned back to my mother. This was between us.

  ‘I don’t get it. It’s our home!’

  ‘Mia, things have been a lot harder than—’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I shouted. ‘I don’t care. Uncle Bill is ri
ght. You can’t sell it. Is it the money? We can help, you know. Roy and I. And Addi and James too.’

  I waited for Roy to jump in and say something – of course we would help – but he didn’t.

  ‘Mia, please, listen to me. We can’t hold on to the house anymore. I’m doing this for you, beta.’ She tried to hold me like she used to but I wasn’t little anymore. I wasn’t weak.

  ‘No.’ I shook her off. ‘NO. Don’t try to pin this on me. It took you five minutes to get rid of all of Daddy’s things and now you’re doing it again. But this time, I’m old enough to know better and I won’t let you.’

  ROY

  Thursday, 10th September

  I seemed to have escaped my family’s dramas and entered another’s.

  ‘Don’t do that, don’t walk away from me,’ Mia said, following me into the bedroom.

  ‘Will you just calm down, please,’ I said, slipping off my tie and unbuttoning my shirt.

  ‘No, I will not. You lied to me!’

  ‘I did no such thing. Your mother came to me with a problem, and I gave her some advice.’

  ‘A problem? So that’s what I am?’

  ‘You’re twisting my words.’ I tossed my shirt on the floor and turned around to face her.

  ‘And you’re ignoring mine,’ she shot back, rooted to her spot by the luggage rack.

  ‘Mia—’

  ‘This is what you do, you just decide what you think is best for me and expect me to fall in line.’

  ‘Mia!’

  ‘Why are you yelling at me?’

  ‘Move.’ She stepped aside and I rummaged through my suitcase for a T-shirt. ‘I’m just trying to make you listen,’ I said through gritted teeth. Things had been so smooth for so long, I’d almost forgotten what Mia could be like when she didn’t get her way. ‘I think you’re blowing this out of proportion.’

  ‘I really don’t care what you think right now,’ she said. ‘We’re supposed to be a team.’

  ‘There is no team, there’s only me trying to make allowances for your—’ I stopped myself. I took a breath. I’d been trying my best to be supportive all week, but sometimes Mia made it so hard. ‘I don’t think we should say any more, Mia.’

  ‘No, I don’t think we should.’

  We stayed like that for a few minutes, me leaning on the dressing table, and Mia slumped on the bed, her lehenga and the dupatta I had helped drape crumpled beneath her, the silence and the weight of her expectations stifling us both till I could stand it no more. I pulled out some cash from the safe and stuffed in into an envelope.

  Mia was intent on blaming me for her mother’s secrets and it was clear that as much as I wanted to help her, I couldn’t. Not right now, anyway.

  I decided to go and sort out Emily’s taxi. I told Mia where I was going and why, that simple fact lending credibility to my honest intentions. I would give Emily the cash, make sure the car was booked, the driver reliable and then come back to the hotel.

  It was all perfectly innocuous.

  Emily had called me during the ceremony, her voice full of apologies.

  ‘Roy, I’m so sorry to bother you. I tried to book a car for tomorrow but they’ve refused to accept my card and I haven’t got enough cash left to cover the fare. I hate to ask . . .’

  She had gone on for some time until I’d interrupted her and told her that of course I’d help.

  Emily was waiting in the lobby when I got there.

  ‘I tried to call you. The concierge has left for the night,’ she said, pointing to the clock on his desk. It was just after one a.m.

  ‘Yeah, I forgot my phone at the hotel. Is the car booked?’

  ‘The receptionist is checking with their car service. He shouldn’t be too long. Should we get some coffee? You look knackered.’

  She was wearing a pair of shorts and a vest. My gaze wandered. I looked away. ‘It has been a long day. Which way is the cafe again?’

  ‘It’s closed. Let’s go to my room?’ she said and started walking towards the stairs. She turned when I didn’t follow.

  ‘Why don’t I give you the money and you can just email me the receipt or hand it over to George when you see him.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want some coffee? I feel bad dragging you—’

  ‘No, it’s late and Mia’s waiting,’ I said, suddenly anxious to get back to my wife. I pulled out the envelope from my pocket and handed it to her. ‘This should cover it. Be safe and text me when you reach Delhi.’

  I turned to leave. Things were complicated enough. I didn’t want to say or do anything I couldn’t take back.

  ‘Thanks, Roy! Don’t be a stranger,’ she called after me.

  MIA

  Friday, 25th September

  London

  The day’s events replayed in my head while I drove. Chris, my annoyingly efficient sourcing assistant, had deemed the weekly sales meeting a fit platform to announce that he wanted to move to the new Eastern European hub. The ‘change in scenery’ would allow him to move on, heal, start afresh, and help set up the new arm of the business, he had hastened to add, looking at the perplexed faces of all the heads of departments.

  I overheard the interns from Merchandizing talking in the toilet less than an hour later.

  ‘There must have been signs. People in happy marriages don’t cheat.’

  ‘I know, right. But his wife’s hot. I heard the other guy is an underwear model. Chris, on the other hand . . .’

  Signs. If he had seen signs, wouldn’t he have done something, you fools?

  They shushed when I came out of the booth.

  ‘We don’t like gossip in this office.’ I smiled at them in the mirror while I washed my hands. They were infants, barely out of high school. What did they know of marriage? ‘Now, didn’t you girls have a report to hand in to me this afternoon?’

  I had taken Chris out to lunch afterwards and the whole story had come pouring out over a bottle of overpriced Bordeaux – he refused to touch our usual Chianti. He had found his wife in bed with the Italian waiter from their local cafe. They were in love, she had exclaimed, while Al Pacino had pulled his trousers on at record speed. Just seven months ago she had professed to love and honour Chris in front of the whole world. Were people really this fickle?

  You could work on it, see someone, I had suggested quietly. You took vows. People do come back from these things. But Chris was adamant. Inconsolable but adamant. I had given him a friend’s therapist’s number just in case and told him to take a few days to think about it. If after that he still wanted to move to Istanbul, I’d make it happen.

  My phone vibrated on the passenger seat and I stole a glimpse as I swerved into the familiar driveway in a nondescript part of Bromley. It was Mum again. I hadn’t been taking her calls so she had resorted to lengthy messages. It was always the same thing: I miss you; I’m doing this for you, etc., etc. A conspiracy of lies.

  I felt a flicker of guilt as I deleted her lie and built my own.

  Just going into a meeting with the team. Home by 9. Chinese tonight?

  Three dots appeared instantly after I pressed send. Then disappeared. Then again. And once more before Roy settled on a response.

  Okay. I’m seeing the editor tonight Promise you’ll pick up the crispy duck?

  Roy could be so grumpy sometimes it made me smile. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about him.

  You got sick the last time! Such a baby ♥ I’ll get it, but no more than 2 pieces for you!

  My therapist, Natalie, had refused to see me when I rang her for an appointment yesterday. I’d already been to see her four times since we got back from India. She was worried about dependence. I would have thought my request for another session this week would please her – wasn’t their clients’ grief arguably what made therapists rich? – but it seemed Natalie wasn’t seeing pound signs. It took a fair bit of persuasion, but eventually she agreed to see me. I had known all along she would; sales is my forte after all. But usually I�
��m the one making money not the one shelling it out.

  I walked up to her front porch at two minutes to seven. Natalie always left the porch door open for clients to come in. She would open the door to her office and wave me in at precisely seven o’clock – not one minute before – after her previous client left through the back door.

  I settled in on the armchair, eyeing the pale green box sitting on the mantelpiece to my right, directly below the large photograph of an anonymous beach. A clock ticked on behind me. Her office was so sparse – there was little else in the room except two matching leather armchairs, each with its own side table, a floor lamp, that picture and a few plants – I wouldn’t have thought Natalie was the kind to indulge in Ladurée macarons. A gift from her husband, I presumed, as Natalie sat down in the chair across from me and crossed her legs.

  ‘So, Mia, how are you today?’ she asked, flicking open her notebook.

  And so it began.

  I walked out through that back door fifty minutes later, feeling drained. What had started out as a conversation about my marriage had somehow, inexplicably, settled on my parents’. Voices from the past invaded my head, tugging at memories that were best left alone. I got into my car and sat there for a few minutes, letting it all run through me.